


Sleeptalking

by orphan_account



Series: Iron Dandelions [1]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: Acceptance, Dreams, Epic Friendships, F/M, Profanity, Teenage Drama, mature themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-08 14:29:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11648502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: In this fragile, beautiful, shitty world, we all need someone to talk to.





	1. Buonasera

When Indy awoke, and the grog of sleep faded away, she was lying on a soft, comfortable bed with a pillow behind her head and a blanket draped over her skinny, sinewy frame. This was wrong. She never slept in places like this, both out of choice and lack of finances. Which meant somebody had put her there whilst she was asleep. She didn't know this place, and she didn't know who had let her sleep here, but whoever they were knew her exact location and what she looked like. And if someone knew more about  _her_  then she knew about  _them_ , then they had power over her.

_Get up. Sort out situation. Fix balance of power._

So, Indy finally opened her eyes. She was in a small room with a wooden floor, blue walls, and curtains of the same hue as the walls drawn over the large window, all of which emanated an atmosphere of tranquility. Hm. If the bed and the room were anything to go by, the hospitality of the stranger (or strangers) was undeniable. Her backpack, as well as her last choice of clothes, were nowhere to be seen. She was now dressed in a well-worn orange T-shirt and khaki shorts, and some gauze had been expertly wrapped around her wrist, though she didn’t feel any pain when she applied pressure. At the very worst, she inferred, she was a pampered prisoner. She hated her hosts already. Orange is a fine color and the khakis were a choice she could salute, but at the end of the day, someone she didn't know had her stuff and had apparently undressed her and changed her clothes. Including her bra and underwear, judging how clean the thing under her shirt looked when she checked. She didn't even have shoes or a hairband, which would make escaping painful and annoying if she couldn't find any of either.

 _Find personal belongings. Punch the person who has my clothes. Find and put on shoes. Acquire a hair mechanism, ideally a ponytail holder._  Indy tried to run her hands through her chestnut locks. _And a hairbrush._  She extracted her hands from the snarls and proceeded to inspect her surroundings.

Carefully handling one of the curtains so the cloth made no sudden movements, Indy peeked outside. From the looks of the breathtaking sight of the sun kissing the horizon and the lack of morning chirps from birds, it was late in the evening, and the night would be clear. Lots of people, from very young to past puberty, were milling about or heading towards some buildings near a thick forest. Many of them were dressed similarly to her, except they had some damn  _shoes_  on. And probably their own underwear, if their contented, comfortable countenances told a truthful tale.

From the looks of the expanse of grass and strawberry fields, there was a lot of open space to run over before any inklings of cover appeared, meaning if she escaped on foot, she’d need the cover of night. Or breakfast.

Everyone assumes the best time to catch people by surprise is dawn, but that is so, so wrong. At dawn, a good soldier, or even a farmer, has been up for hours training or working, and they’re bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and armed with weapons or tools. Breakfast is the time to strike. At breakfast, everyone is tired from hours of physical activity, and they’re putting their weapons down and preparing to relax over a meal with family and friends. When something happens at breakfast, no one is ready.

After one last wistful look towards that sunset, Indy closed the curtain and turned back to the messy bed, with its sheets and comforter made to match the walls and the curtains. To make it look like she was still sleeping, she arranged the bedclothes into a lumpy cocoon. Then she tried the door, which, to her surprise, was unlocked.  _Huh_. Either her captors were sloppy, or this room wasn’t her entire cell. Best not to make any conclusions about them being nice until she was out of this place, with her pack slung over her shoulder, wearing her  _own bra_. Whoever called this thing their own had boobs on the bigger side, which made it even more uncomfortable. Twelve-year-old girls, however well-endowed, still had some growing to do before they could happily settle into the perfect-fitting bra. They also had to eat well if they wanted to grow anything healthy, in every sense of the word.

_Find something to eat. Explore vicinity. Stay out of sight._

The floorboards of the hallway groaned softly as Indy stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her. She could hear the shouts of laughter coming from both ends. This house was not terribly big, had a lot of open windows, and was  _old_. She could feel it in the air. This place was old, and had secrets to hide.

_Secrets are power. Discover them._

Shouldn’t be too hard, given her birthright. Indy chose to go right. She had yet to see anyone in the house, which was unnerving. She still didn’t know why she was here, nor who knew she was here. At the very worst, every single person outside (plus the ones she hadn’t seen) knew she was in this building. But nobody had been sitting in the bedroom when she first woke up, and no one had been standing outside her door when she opened it. Whoever had put her here obviously didn’t consider her a threat. A mistake on their part, if she couldn’t find her stuff.

_Find my stuff. Arm myself. Get some damn food already!_

The corridor wasn’t long, and seemed to form an unbroken square around the entire house. It also acted as a divider between the house’s interior and the wraparound porch outside. Indy guessed there were at least two exits, not including all the open windows. Inside the nearest entry to the interior was a cluttered living room with tacky wall décor, an outdated game station and television, a couple overstuffed pieces of furniture, and a small table in the corner. She probably would have appreciated the warm Western feel of it all a little more if she hadn’t been so enamored by the plate of half-eaten food sitting on the table.

In her lifestyle, Indy knew that there was always a chance the she would have to skip a few meals out of necessity. Sometimes, these absences of nourishment could last for days. Indy, however, was not a normal nomad. She made finding food,  _good_ food, a priority. Because she was twelve years old, and that meant she was undergoing a phase of life where everything she put (or  _didn’t_  put) in her body mattered. She took her meals very seriously, and her devotion to healthy eating paid off in height, stamina, muscle mass, attractive features (the likes of which she knew would come in handy later on in her life), and most importantly, a  _damn good_  brain. Benefits like that were worth any shit she got herself into while acquiring fresh, organic, and nutritious food. She had risked her life many times in the name of healthy foodstuffs.

And whoever had left that plate behind had left all their vegetables untouched, plus half a leg of chicken.

_Eat the food. Now._

If she hadn’t been so transfixed by the beautiful sight of  _calories_ , perhaps the brain she was so proud of would have told her to check around the room before entering. Maybe then she would have seen that the leopard head mounted on the wall was blinking at her. Upon her first step into the room, the head began to howl and snarl like a broken security alarm. Caught completely off-guard, Indy reflexively grabbed a nearby object and threw towards the sound with plenty of force. The thing turned out to be a discarded soda can (whoever lived here was a swine). There was a yelp and a slight pause in the howls. She had hit her mark. Then it began to snarl again.

Finally, Indy snapped out of her instinctive state of defense, and her brain finally decided to work. She knew the leopard head's ( _leopard head?_ ) yowls would have called attention to her presence. She needed to get the food and get out.

_Vegetables take too long to grab. Get the chicken, find vegetables later._

Before she could do anything, however, Indy felt a hand clamp down on her shoulder and a voice said, "That's enough."

* * *

 

Indy, regardless of her prior paranoia, was quite satisfied with her recent work as well as her current situation.

She was sitting at a ping pong table with a fresh serving of vegetables and oven-baked chicken set out before her. A few interesting individuals sat around her, patiently waiting for her to finish eating before they allowed her to interrogate them (of course, their naivety led them to believe it would be the other way around). The poor fool who grabbed her shoulder earlier was now nursing the purple bruise blossoming on his jaw and grumbling. He wasn't much older than her, with dark hair, tan skin, and greenish-blue eyes so vivid she could clearly see their hue from across the table. Much to her amusement, he had opted to seat himself as far away from her as possible. Indy liked the girl with blonde curls that was telling him off with comments like, "You should have known better than to sneak up behind her and grab her shoulder, Seaweed-Brain," as she handed him a new ice pack.

Annabeth was her name, and it was she who loaned her clothes to Indy, and in the end, Indy had decided against punching her. After all, she’d already walloped one of her captors, and she only needed to display her readiness to attack once. Plus, Annabeth had returned Indy’s stuff to her, now clean, and her beloved backpack was now leaning against her chair. The older girl had also been charitable enough to provide her with all their names: Seaweed-Brain’s real name was Percy. She had also been kind enough to lend Indy a hairbrush.

The other two individuals didn't say anything, but they didn't need to talk to be interesting. The man with the grumpy look on his face (“Dionysus, the director here at Camp Half-Blood.” Annabeth said.) had summoned the Diet Coke he was drinking from thin air, and the man in the wheel chair (“Chiron, Camp Half-Blood’s activities director. He’s also a centaur.” Annabeth told her. “I promise, once you’ve eaten, we’ll answer all your questions.”) possessed an aura of experience and knowledge. She knew without a doubt they would give her plenty of information.

When Indy was finished with her dinner, the sun had set. Distantly, she could hear a chorus of happy voices coming from the area where the building she had seen earlier were located. The boy looked eager to join them. The other three just looked tired and ready to be done with her. Indy didn’t blame them, but before anyone was departing from this table, she wanted some answers.

_Sit back and wait. See how much information they give me before I direct the conversation._

Sure enough, after a mere ten seconds of silence, Percy spoke up. “Look, I know the girl just woke up and all, but it’s getting late, the others have marshmallows on the bonfire already, and I’ve had a long, stressful day. Why don’t we leave the questions for a sane hour in the morning?”

Annabeth groaned at her friend’s priorities. “Think about it, Idiot. She just woke up in an unfamiliar place, and now she’s surrounded by unfamiliar people doing unfamiliar things. She just ate off a plate that filled itself with food at a command, for gods’ sakes. Wouldn’t you have a few questions in her place? How would you feel if you didn’t get any answers immediately because some moron wanted to sleep?”

_They don’t know my name._

Before Percy could reply, Dionysus interjected. “Patrick’s got a point. If the girl’s questions can’t wait ‘til morning, I’m certain you three can deal with her without my help. I’m done here.” At that, he stood up and disappeared into the house.

“My name’s not Patrick.” Percy muttered.

_No enemy would avoid interrogating a prisoner._

Chiron sighed, but didn’t say anything in protest. When he turned to Indy, his eyes were warm and inviting. “I apologize for that, my dear. Mr. D. is right, though; we can answer any questions you might have, and I’m sure we owe you a few.”

Indy knew she would not get any more information from idle chatter. So, she asked, in careful English, “What happened?” Her accent managed to sound enough like theirs that no one paused to notice the difference.

Chiron replied, “You were asleep in a secluded spot in New York Harbor. Some satyrs of ours were on a mission over there, found you along the way, contacted us, and we sent Annabeth and Percy to go pick you up. We think a monster may have injected you with some sort of sleep-inducing toxin, because you were unconscious for a day and a half. There was a gash in your arm, which is where we think the toxin may have entered your system.”

“You barely moved while you were sleeping.” Percy added. “Would’ve thought you were dead if you hadn’t had that knife of yours in a death grip.”

“Which reminds me,” Annabeth spoke again, “that knife is made of Celestial Bronze. Not that I think you don’t know this already, but that kind of metal? Normal mortals don’t use it. And judging how you didn’t bat an eyelash when I told you Chiron’s a centaur, nor when I told Dionysus’ name, I’m going to guess we don’t have to tell you what Camp Half-Blood is or what a demigod is. So, seeing how we’ve answered your question, answer this for me,” Her grey eyes flashed. “who are you?”

Judging by the stunned look on Percy’s face, and the carefully blank look on Chiron’s, Annabeth had concluded this all on her own. Where Indy came from, feats of intellect were rewarded with information. Indy only followed this rule when she had information she felt like sharing.

_They know my location, my appearance, my lifestyle, and my status as a demigod. I know their locations, appearances, lifestyles, statuses, and their names. Annabeth is smart, and fair is fair._

Letting her accent fly freely off her tongue, she said, “I am called Indy. Annabeth, you’re not wrong; I know Camp Half-Blood. Although,” she smiled at the ping pong table, “it would seem that it’s been a very long time since my first stay here. When I walked into the living room, I did not recognize it. But clearly, I’m not the only one with a poor memory, Chiron. Do you not remember me?”

“If I remember correctly, Indy,” Chiron spoke slowly, “You were an undetermined little girl that insisted she would die if she did not leave.”

"I wasn't lying, Chiron. The only reason I'm back is because some scorpion couldn't figure out how to use its stinger properly. It left a cut instead of a stab wound, the likes of which I'm grateful you treated. But I should get going. I get restless if I don't travel, as you know."

The centaur sighed. "I think we've talked enough for one night. Why don't we all retire? You may use the room you slept in previously, dear."

Indy was hardly tired, but she saw the wisdom of discussing this at, as Percy put it, a sane hour. So, she stood up, bid them all a goodnight, and departed with her things.

* * *

 

Once Indy was inside, Percy found his voice again. "Hold on. That girl's been here before?"

"I think I remember her now." Annabeth said. "It was about six months after I arrived with Luke. I was eight, and she must have been six or seven. She didn't talk much, and she was never claimed. She disappeared after about a week. Chiron, what happened to her?"

"All in the morning, Annabeth." Chiron maneuvered his wheelchair to go inside. "All will be said in the morning. For now, we could all use some sleep."


	2. Buenas Dias

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Don't waste your time with explanations: people only hear what they want to hear." ~Paulo Coelho

Once Indy closed the door to her temporary room, she put down her pack, sat on the still-lumpy bed, and buried her face in her hands, letting her calm façade crumble away. She was back here again, after all these years. All the memories from that long week were returning. Each little moment was prodding at her brain like a shock from a prank toy.

This place had been good to her. The people had given her food, a sanctuary, and a potential home. She remembered her shock when Chiron told her why she saw monsters that no one else could, and what she was, and what existed. She could recall with a smile the awe she felt during her first meal in the dining hall. Her dismal first spar was lost to an eight-year-old boy that celebrated his victory with far too much zest. She had never gotten the chance to pay him back for his attitude.

She’d been six years old at the time; most first-graders would have taken that chance for a happy home and hearth and never regretted it. Most first-graders don’t have the inexplicable physical need to walk around on an international level. This urge seemed to be uncommon, even among the children of the gods, because when she’d told Chiron she couldn’t stay, he hadn’t believed her.

_Will he understand this time, or will I have to run away again?_

Indy had liked this place as a little girl. She liked it now too, though it was probable no one would think her truthful. In the eyes of the content, if a person didn’t want to stay, that person didn’t like what they saw.

The content and happy people of the world were so lucky to be able to have a permanent home.

With this bitter thought in mind, Indy straightened out the bed, pulled up the hood of her sweatshirt, and exited the room with her pack on her shoulder. To hell with talking in the morning. The longer she stayed in a place like this, in the midst of the satisfied, the more likely it would be they would try to cement her here.

For the sake of her mental, emotional, and physical health, she couldn't let that happen.

* * *

 

At Camp Half-Blood, there was a gap of time the campers had before breakfast, for the implied purpose of cleaning. Thanks to the fact that the majority of the campers were highly active teenagers, the vastly more popular use of the time was sleeping. Luckily for Percy, Annabeth was more tolerant of mornings than many of their peers. So, the next morning, when he and his blonde friend were walking to the Big House, he wasted no time in bringing up a subject he found vexing. “Is it just me, or did that chick have a weird accent?”

Though Annabeth didn’t look up from the book she was reading, her disdain for Percy’s choice of address for the mysterious girl was evident. “She told us her name is Indy, Percy. Have the courtesy to use it. But you’re right, she’s got an unusual accent.” She turned a page and continued, “If I had to guess, I’d say it’s not the kind you get from staying in one place for very long.”

“Do you think she travels a lot?”

“Duh, Seaweed Brain. We gathered as much from the condition of her backpack.”

“Well, yeah, but that could’ve just meant she hitchhikes across the states. You’re saying she literally sounds like a world traveler.”

“Well, goody for you, using ‘literally’ correc— _whoa_!” Annabeth’s remark was cut short as her foot snagged on some dead grass. With his fighter’s instincts, Percy’s hand lashed out to help steady her.

“Easy there! See, this is why you shouldn’t read while walking. You could’ve twisted an ankle!”

Annabeth glared at him, but she did close her book. “Watch it there, Jackson. You were  _this_ close to grabbing my boob.”

“Well, excuse me,  _Chase_ , I was just trying to—wait,  _what_?” Percy’s neck and ears heated as he processed her words. “Oh gods, I am  _sorry_. I didn’t mean to, my hand just reached out when I saw you falling, I didn’t realize your—er, that it was right there and—um, look, I just want to say—”

“We’re here, Seaweed Brain. You can stop now.” Annabeth drawled. She made sure Percy didn’t see her smile as she walked up the steps.

She heard him say, “Oh. Uh, right,” as he followed her.

* * *

 

Inside, the two found an illustrious scene.

A very disgruntled-but-calm Indy was sitting in one of the squashy armchairs with grapevines tied around her wrists, ankles, and waist. Chiron was in the room, in his wheelchair again, and looked strikingly like a father who had in his care a very willful and nettlesome child. (In truth, he did take care of a lot of troublesome teenagers, but rarely did its effect show on his countenance.) Mr. D was there as well, and the look on his face was quite similar to his expression when he’d caught Percy sneaking off after Zoë’s team; thinly veiled malice. The memory delivered a sorry pang through Percy’s being at the memory of his mistakes with that little group.

“Chiron, what is this?” Annabeth gestured towards Indy. “What’s going on?”

Mr. D crowed, “It would seem India here thought she could run off again like she did last time. Damn brat knew it was against the rules.”

“Mr. D,” Chiron sighed. “That's a very, very wild assumption. It’s been several years since she stayed with us, and a single week is not an adequate amount of time to commit our rules to memory.”

“Hmph,” was all the camp director had to say.

“Chiron,” Annabeth asserted. “What. Is going. On? Why is Indy tied up? She tried to leave?”

“Yes. She did. And she might have been successful if Peleus had not seen her.”

Throughout the conversation taking place over her head, Indy sat quietly in the chair and watched all of them, the calculating look on her face withstanding what must have been a humiliating moment for her. In the light of day, Percy could see her hair was lighter than his only by a few shades, and she was sitting on the wavy, slightly mussed locks.

The humongous armchair she was sitting in only served to emphasize her small stature. If not for the obvious signs of the first stages of puberty, Percy would have mistaken her for a ten-year-old.

Percy listened to the conversation again when Chiron coaxed, “Annabeth has a point, Mr. D. In past cases, if a camper unwittingly broke a rule they didn’t know about, we gave them a warning and left the matter at that. We both know the difference in this particular case is irrelevant.”

“Plus it’s almost time for breakfast. Can we go now?” Percy quipped.

“Did you forget what we came here to talk about, Seaweed-Brain?”

“…Oh, yeah. Can we get to that, then? I’m hungry.”

“Whatever. I’ve got to go help Argus monitor the brats.” Mr. D grunted. He released Indy from her bonds and exited the room.

Once he was gone, three heads turned towards the strange girl sitting in the heart of their camp.

After a plump moments of silence, Percy stated, “Okay, I’m really getting hungry here. Can we please get on with this, Indy? Your name’s Indy, right?”

“Yes, Percy. That is my name.” Indy’s accent floated through the room just as it had last night, and he couldn’t figure out what it was to save his life. “And I agree with you. Now is the time to eat. Breakfast is important, especially for people like us, who have such active lifestyles.” Indy rose from her seat smiling and made to follow Dionysus.

“Why did you try to leave?” Annabeth called after her.

“I already told you,” Indy trilled over her shoulder. Her pace didn’t slow. “I get restless if I don’t travel.” And then she was out of sight, her hair swishing like a flag.

"I worry for that poor dear." Chiron breathed in her absence. "Something may have happened to her before she came to us. Or perhaps she's always been this way. But even when she was six, she preferred watching the people around her than talking to them. Somehow, she always managed to learn more about other people than other people knew about her."

"You mean she liked to blackmail kids?" Percy blurted out.

"Sounds more like a creepy schemer than the 'poor dear' you're making her out to be." Annabeth quipped.

"I didn't mean that she gathered blackmail." Chiron stressed. "All I meant is she was quiet, and everyone around her thought that meant she was dim, too. No one glanced again when their eyes swept over her. No one bothered to listen to the words of such a small, quiet child. Including myself." His eyes grew melancholic. "She told me the day before she left that if she didn't get out of Camp Half-Blood soon, she would die. She kept crying, 'I have to go. I have to go.' I brushed her worries aside as figments of a nervous child's imagination. The next day, after hours of searching, I was so sure I'd never see her again."

"And here she is," Annabeth finished for him. "Alive and healthy." Her voice was sober.

"Geez." Percy murmured. "If she didn't have to deal with the whole twelve-years-old-and-up monster attraction thing, I'd say we should just let her go."

"I would too, Percy." Chiron lamented. "But in the name of her health and safety, I can't."

All three of the room's occupants jumped at a sudden crash in the distance.

"That came from the mess hall." Annabeth said.

"Twenty bucks says it's got something to do with Indy." Percy replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter than the previous one. That is because the next chapter is going to be a bit long. It will also have Nico in it. About damn time, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello.  
> It's nice to meet you.  
> In my own search for Nico/OC fanfiction, whether the OC is a boy or a girl, the work itself falls very far short of its potential. I wanted to contribute something that has been written to the best of my ability. Consequentially, work in this corner of the fanfiction world will be the first of my writing escapades that I have shared. Ever.  
> I have hopes that this endeavor of mine will prove fun and beneficial to all involved.


End file.
